THE DARKNESS IN ELDARA
Even the stout roan grew weary during the third day, and when they
topped the last rise of hills, and looked down to darker shadows in
Eldara in the black heart of the hollow, the mustang stood with hanging
head, and one ear flopped forward. Cruel indeed had been the pace which
Nash maintained, yet they had never been able to overhaul the flying
piebald of Anthony Bard.
As they trotted down the slope, Nash looked to his equipment, handled
his revolver, felt the strands of the lariat, and resting only his toes
in the stirrups, eased all his muscles to make sure that they were
uncramped from the long journey. He was fit; there was no doubt of that.
Coming down the main street--for Eldara boasted no fewer than three
thoroughfares--the first houses which Nash passed showed no lights. As
far as he could see, the blinds were all drawn; not even the glimmer of
a candle showed, and the voices which he heard were muffled and low.
He thought of plague or some other disaster which might have overtaken
the little village and wiped out nine tenths of the populace in a day.
Only such a thing could account for silence in Eldara. There should have
been bursts and roars of laughter here and there, and now and then a
harsh stream of cursing. There should have been clatter of kitchen tins;
there should have been neighing of horses; there should have been the
quiver and tingle of children's voices at play in the dusty streets. But
there was none of this. The silence was as thick and oppressive as the
unbroken dark of the night. Even Butler's saloon was closed!
This, however, was something which he would not believe, no matter what
testimony his eyes gave him. He rode up to a shuttered window and kicked
it with his heel.
Only the echoes of that racket replied to him from the interior of the
place. He swore, somewhat touched with awe, and kicked again.
A faint voice called: "Who's there?"
"Steve Nash. What the devil's happened to Eldara?"
The boards of the shutter stirred, opened, so that the man within could
look out.
"Is it Steve, honest?"
"Damn it, Butler, don't you know my voice? What's turned Eldara into a
cemetery?"
"Cemetery's right. 'Butch' Conklin and his gang are going to raid the
place to-night."
"Butch Conklin?"
And Nash whistled long and low.
"But why the devil don't the boys get together if they know Butch is
coming with his gunmen?"
"That's what they've done. Every able-bodied man in town is out in the
hills trying to surprise Conklin's gang before they hit town with their
guns going."
Butler was a one-legged man, so Nash kept back the question which
naturally formed in his mind.
"How do they know Conklin is coming? Who gave the tip?"
"Conklin himself."
"What? Has he been in town?"
"Right. Came in roaring drunk."
"Why'd they let him get away again?"
"Because the sheriff's a bonehead and because our marshal is solid
ivory. That's why."
"What happened?"
"Butch came in drunk, as I was saying, which he generally is, but he
wasn't giving no trouble at all, and nobody felt particular called on to
cross him and ask questions. He was real sociable, in fact, and that's
how the mess was started."
"Go on. I don't get your drift."
"Everybody was treatin' Butch like he was the king of the earth and not
passin' out any backtalk, all except one tenderfoot----"
But here a stream of tremendous profanity burst from Nash. It rose, it
rushed on, it seemed an exhaustless vocabulary built up by long practice
on mustangs and cattle.
At length: "Is that damned fool in Eldara?"
"D'you know him?"
"No. Anyway, go on. What happened?"
"I was sayin' that Butch was feelin' pretty sociable. It went all right
in the bars. He was in here and didn't do nothin' wrong. Even paid for
all the drinks for everybody in the house, which nobody could ask more
even from a white man. But then Butch got hungry and went up the street
to Sally Fortune's place."
A snarl came from Nash.
"Did they let that swine go in there?"
"Who'd stop him? Would you?"
"I'd try my damnedest."
"Anyway, in he went and got the centre table and called for ten dollars'
worth of bacon and eggs--which there hasn't been an egg in Eldara this
week. Sally, she told him, not being afraid even of Butch. He got pretty
sore at that and said that it was a frame-up and everyone was ag'in'
him. But finally he allowed that if she'd sit down to the table and keep
him company he'd manage to make out on whatever her cook had ready to
eat."
"And Sally done it?" groaned Nash.
"Sure; it was like a dare--and you know Sally. She'd risk her whole
place any time for the sake of a bet."
"I know it, but don't rub it in."
"She fetched out a steak and served Butch as if he'd been a king and
then sat down beside him and started kiddin' him along, with all the
gang of us sittin' or standin' around and laughin' fit to bust, but not
loud for fear Butch would get annoyed.
"Then two things come in together and spoiled the prettiest little party
that was ever started in Eldara. First was that player piano which Sally
got shipped in and paid God-knows-how-much for; the second was this
greenhorn I was tellin' you about."
"Go on," said Nash, the little snarl coming back in his voice. "Tell me
how the tenderfoot walked up and kicked Butch out of the place."
"Somebody been tellin' you?"
"No; I just been readin' the mind of Eldara."
"It was a nice play, though. This Bard--we found out later that was his
name--walks in, takes a table, and not being served none too quick, he
walks over and slips a nickel in the slot of the piano. Out she starts
with a piece of rippin' ragtime--you know how loud it plays? Butch, he
kept on talkin' for a minute, but couldn't hear himself think. Finally
he bellers: 'Who turned that damned tin-pan loose?'
"This Bard walks up and bows. He says: 'Sir, I came here to find food,
and since I can't get service, I'll take music as a substitute.'
"Them was the words he used, Steve, honest to God. Used them to Butch!
"Well, Conklin was too flabbergasted to budge, and Bard, he leaned over
and says to Sally: 'This floor is fairly smooth. Suppose you and I dance
till I get a chance to eat?'
"We didn't know whether to laugh or to cheer, but most of us compromised
by keeping an eye on Butch's gun.
"Sally says, 'Sure I'll dance,' and gets up.
"'Wait!' hollers Butch; 'are you leavin' me for this wall-eyed galoot?'
"There ain't nothin' Sally loves more'n a fight--we all know that. But
this time I guess she took pity on the poor tenderfoot, or maybe she
jest didn't want to get her floor all messed up.
"'Keep your hat on, Butch,' she says, 'all I want to do is to give him
some motherly advice.'
"'If you're acting that part,' says Bard, calm as you please, 'I've got
to tell mother that she's been keeping some pretty bad company.'
"'Some what?' bellers Butch, not believin' his ears.
"And young Bard, he steps around the girl and stands over Butch.
"'Bad company is what I said,' he repeats, 'but maybe I can be
convinced.'
"'Easy,' says Butch, and reaches for his gun.
"We all dived for the door, but me being held up on account of my
missing leg, I was slow an' couldn't help seein' what happened. Butch
was fast, but the young feller was faster. He had Butch by the wrist
before the gun came clear--just gave a little twist--and there he stood
with the gun in his hand pointin' into Butch's face, and Butch sittin'
there like a feller in a trance or wakin' up out of a bad dream.
"Then he gets up, slow and dignified, though he had enough liquor in him
to float a ship.
"'I been mobbed,' he says, 'it's easy to see that. I come here peaceful
and quiet, and here I been mobbed. But I'm comin' back, boys, and I
ain't comin' alone.'
"There was our chance to get him, while he was walking out of that place
without a gun, but somehow nobody moved for him. He didn't look none too
easy, even without his shootin' irons. Out he goes into the night, and
we stood around starin' at each other. Everybody was upset, except Sally
and Bard.
"He says: 'Miss Fortune, this is our dance, I think.'
"'Excuse me,' says Sally, 'I almost forgot about it.'
"And they started to dance to the piano, waltzin' around among the
tables; the rest of us lit out for home because we knew that Butch would
be on his way with his gang before we got very far under cover. But hey,
Steve, where you goin'?"
"I'm going to get in on that dance," called Nash, and was gone at a
racing gallop down the street.